If Thesk had not been plagued by winter, Kalana could have seen herself forging a life here.  

She had spent the past two years journeying northwards, plying her craft to survive. Looting dungeons, providing magical protection, eradicating pests (both sentient and wild), and the occasional bout of assassination had kept her on the road, chasing rumors of work to keep her belly full. She certainly hadn’t [i]intended[/i] to make a living adventuring; it had simply been the only available option when she had left Calimshan. Kalana had [i]meant[/i] to set herself up in a quiet village, maybe build herself a little tower where she could pour over her books in peace. Perhaps eventually she would find a little child with a gift for the Art and pass on her knowledge. It had been, in her opinion, a truly excellent plan.


The villagers of the nameless border village in Tethyr had rather dashed those dreams when they had chased her beyond their farms with swords and arrows. Kalana had thrown indignant fireballs at the uppity humans over her shoulder and seriously considered turning around and crossing the Calim desert all over again.

It had been a similar story in the next half dozen villages she tried until Kalana finally gave up on her little tower and her books. Throwing in with the first band of adventurers that would take her, she wandered ever further from the Sea of Swords. Companions were ever shifting, parting in death and exhaustion alike, joined by youths and veterans alike as they pursued work. By the time she had reached the Moonsea, Kalana had worked with nearly a dozen different companies. Faces and names had blurred together; the wilds were as brutal as war, and few of their number survived the winter in Narfell.

Kalana had found winter fascinating for all of three days. It wasn’t so much the cold as the almost unending night. She had never thought the sun to be a scarcity before. Even in the midst of horror, she had always been assured by the fire painting the sky on every rising. To go nearly a month without more than a feeble glimmer of sunlight had been maddening. As her latest company began the journey south, Kalana swore she would never again spend a winter in the hells of the north.


And then she had found Thesk. In the three weeks she had spent in Two Stars, selling the artefacts she had spirited away from the ruins of Narfell, she had yet to be refused service even once. Two Stars was not a particularly large town, but she had counted no less than three other tieflings scattered throughout its markets. Her horns had been more a curiosity than threat, and by her second week it seemed as if the humans had grown accustomed to her.  And when her latest company announced that they were heading west, Kalana had simply wished them well and taken her share of their coffers.

In all the hundreds of miles she had traveled, by foot and ship and horse and magic alike, Kalana had never found a town quite as friendly as Two Stars. In the midst of spring, she indulged in the first breaths of peace and quiet she had known since her childhood in Memnon. And though she could never have confused the bitter morning air of Two Stars for the spray of the sea and the sweltering heat, it had been the closest thing to home she had found in the realms. 

Perhaps, however, she had never been meant to settle down. The idea of a tower and books had sounded so delightful, fresh from war in robes still stained by brains and guts. But she hadn’t considered that a little town—even one as vitalized by trade as Two Stars—could be so unbelievably [i]boring[/i]. And despite three weeks of soft beds and hot baths, Kalana found herself missing the road. There was never a short supply of bandits or monsters to battle in the wilds. And while it was nice not to have children scream at the sight of her, she rather missed the readiness of a fight in town. There was nothing like unleashing the Art, shaping reality into fire and death, fanning the flames of her temper until she felt alive. Two Stars was simply too [i]peaceful[/i]. Even with the two skirmishes with demons she had seen, there simply wasn’t enough… excitement.

Finding work had not been much of a challenge. Trade routes always needed protecting from raiders and slavers alike, especially this close to Thay. Kalana had expected to find a place in a caravan striking east, guarding someone’s wealth. Simple work that promised both combat and healthy pay—what more could she want? Then she had seen the signs. A small fortune to help best a hedge-wizard? It was either a simple matter for easy gold or a truly lethal trap. Both options were rather appealing. 

It was a short journey through the crowded markets. After nearly a month within its borders, Kalana still found joy in wandering the stalls, laden with silks and spices and wonders from both east and west. Smoke and the spice of cooked meat curled through the air along with the din of hundreds of voices in half a dozen languages. The watery sunshine did little to warm the morning, and Kalana drew her heavily brocaded shawl closer around her frame. 

Her gnarled staff clicked along cobbled stone, little golden bells tinkling as they swayed in time. Slipping through the gates, Kalana turned her burning eyes on the tower atop the hill. It was a simple structure, but as she followed the stone path up its slopes, she could taste the familiar bite of magic in the air. A wizard hiring a wizard to kill a wizard—it seemed to be the beginnings of a bawdry tavern joke. Kalana’s lip curved into a private smirk at the thought.

The simple fence surrounding the tower seemed almost to hum as she approached. Arching a heavy brow, she considered the neatly maintained garden and the man dozing in a chair. Had she been mistaken? The signs [i]had[/i] lead here, after all. With a little tut of impatience, Kalana rapped the fence with her staff to rouse the sleeping man. 

“You there,” tone curt and eyes narrowing, Kalana cocked her head to one side, “Are you still hiring?”